Someone I Used to Be
by CharlotteBlackwood
Summary: Sequel of sorts to Second Chances... Michelle Simpson wakes up in a hospital bed and is told that she is someone she doesn't remember being, while the life she does remember is somewhere she can't get to. But does she want to? What if she can save a life by finding a way back? GW/OC
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is a sequel to my story, **_**Second Chances**_**. This sequel is by special request of **_**Say Happy**_**, and therefore is dedicated to **_**Say Happy**_**. It is born entirely out of **_**Say Happy**_**'s suggestion and request, and therefore if you enjoy it I ask that you thank **_**Say Happy**_**. :D And I certainly hope you enjoy it.**

** -J**

She was breathing heavily, desperately running away. They weren't going to catch her this time. They weren't. It wasn't going to happen again.

"Michelle!" called his voice, that disgusting voice of Everitt Holland. His cronies were jeering and she ducked behind a building, finding an alleyway. It was a dead end, she realized, panicked.

"Come out and play, Simpson! We ain't gonna hurt you!"

If she hadn't been so terrified that they'd find her, Michelle would have snorted at that. Of course they were going to hurt her. It was all they ever wanted to do, hurt her.

Sometimes it felt good for a bit, but the pain was always more than the pleasure. And they got more pleasure out of it than she ever would anyway, Michelle thought bitterly. They shouldn't feel good for hurting her. Life shouldn't work that way.

But life had never been in Michelle Simpson's favor. She'd been orphaned young, tossed from foster home to foster home, and then an orphanage, but it was closed down, so she was back in foster care once more. Her foster parents, though, they didn't really care about her at all. If they had cared, they would have been concerned with the interest their twenty-year-old neighbor's son took in the fifteen-year-old girl they'd taken in. They might have noticed the way he leered at her when she took out the trash. They might have bothered not to pretend not to hear her screams the first time he raped her, before his friends got involved.

Michelle huddled on the ground at the end of the alley, hugging her knees to her chest and praying that they wouldn't find her. That was all she had left. Her blonde hair fell in a curtain around her as she shook with fear.

Of course, the wishing never helped, and one of the bigger boys found her, calling to the others, and she just let the teardrops fall to her knees as the half a dozen or so boys surrounded her, jeering and kicking her as Everitt pulled her to her feet by her upper arms.

"Thought you could hide from me you stupid slut?" he hissed in her face, spitting on her with contempt. "You belong to me. I own you, you whore."

He probably thought he did. He probably thought he was her pimp. For all she knew, his friends were paying him for a chance to rape her. And her foster parents didn't care, they didn't care at all. No one cared. They were too busy drinking the checks that were supposed to feed her to notice what was happening. And the tears ran down Michelle's face.

"You don't own me," she hissed.

"What did you just say to me, slut?" he growled.

"You don't own me," she said again, a bit stronger as she lifted her tear-filled eyes to face his own rage-filled eyes. "I don't _belong_ to anyone, least of all you, coward."

Perhaps she should have bit her tongue and born the pain for what seemed like the hundredth time, but Michelle was tired of being beaten and used. If they were going to kill her for her insolence, at least she would die and it would be over.

First, Everitt hit her across the face, hard. Then, he shoved her against the hard brick wall of the building behind her, ripping her shirt wide open with one hand and squeezing at her neck with the other as he began roughly groping her breasts. Michelle struggled, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of doing as she was told anymore. He did not own her. Nobody owned her.

As she was starting to struggle away from the wall, however, he slammed her hard back against it, causing her head to crack sharply against the brick and his hand's grip on her neck loosened with surprise as she saw the world fade to black.

/-/

When her eyes opened, Michelle found herself somewhere she certainly didn't recognize. Perhaps it was a hospital, she thought dumbly. After all, she was in a sterile white sort of cot, although the walls were made of stone, and she felt colder than she ought. Her head ached fiercely and her breasts were sore from the handling Everitt had given her.

"Minerva, she's waking."

Who was Minerva? Was she a nurse? Michelle groaned lightly as she tried to sit up, and she saw two women heading toward her in strange clothes, one looking severe with a tight bun, squared glasses, and a firm, worried line that was where a mouth ought to be. The other was kindly, concerned.

They must be nurses, Michelle decided, although strange nurses they seemed to be.

"Miss Simpson, how do you feel?" the stern one asked, who must have been Minvera.

"My head hurts," Michelle said honestly.

They knew her name, which meant someone had taken her to the hospital, someone who knew her. Everitt hadn't just left her to die in the alley. But had he taken her, or had her foster parents been alerted to where she was?

"You fell down the stairs, Miss Simpson," the other woman said kindly. "You hit your head rather hard."

Michelle frowned.

Fell down the stairs? Was that the rubbish those sorry excuses for foster parents had fed the hospital when they brought her in?

"Do you remember what happened?" Minerva said in a way that seemed very nearly gentle.

Oh, Michelle certainly remembered what happened, but as she really didn't want to be shuffled around again, she decided it was better to say no, so she shook her head.

The women exchanged nervous glances.

"Miss Simpson, what is your name?" the nameless nurse asked.

"Michelle Mallory Simpson," Michelle said, guessing that they were testing her for amnesia, which was silly, because she remembered everything.

"What is your date of birth?"

"May 2nd, 1978," Michelle said impatiently.

"And who are your parents?"

Are? Didn't they mean 'were'? Her parents had been dead for ages, Michelle wasn't even sure that it was on her medical charts. Had it not been her foster parents that brought her in? Perhaps Everitt's parents did.

"They were George and Cynthia Simpson," Michelle said slowly. "But they're dead."

The women looked surprised and exchanged a look.

"Miss Simpson," Minerva said, unsure of what was happening, obviously, "your parents are Mark and Mallory Simpson, and as far as I know they're very much alive."

Michelle blinked.

Her parents weren't alive. Something was wrong. Something was going completely wrong. She couldn't have woken up yet, that was the thing. She must just be having some sort of dream, she told herself.

"What year are you?" the unnamed woman pressed.

"In school?" Michelle asked. "I dropped out, last spring. I... I don't go."

"Poppy, it's like Samantha Collins all over again," Minerva whispered.

Who was Samantha Collins? What was going on? Was it a dream? What was everyone talking about?

"I'm afraid you're right," Poppy said nervously. "We shall have to alert her parents, explain to her friends, and I suppose we ought to have the headmaster talk with her."

Headmaster? Wasn't she at a hospital? They hadn't been stupid enough to bring her to a _school_, surely.

There was only one thing for it, Michelle decided firmly. She was still asleep, dreaming. Her body was probably lying in a hospital somewhere, or in the alleyway, and her mind had dreamed this place up, whatever it was.

She didn't ask what was going on, and the women seemed relieved as they went about telling her they were going to tell her friends about her accident and that the headmaster should be with her shortly. Michelle wasn't sure who Angelina and Alicia were, but apparently they were her friends, so she just nodded until she could no longer take the pain that the movement caused her head.

Then Michelle waited, trying to decide what to do. Should she give in to the dream, or would that make it harder to wake? Did she even want to wake?

A very old man entered the room (ward?), a solemn expression on his face as he sat beside her bed.

"Do you remember who I am, Miss Simpson?" he asked in a faint but firm voice.

"No," she said honestly, fully aware that she'd never seen the man before in her life.

"My name is Professor Albus Dumbledore," he said gently, "and I am headmaster here at Hogwarts."

"And what's Hogwarts?" Michelle asked nervously.

"It is a school, Michelle," he said gently. "A school for witches and wizards."

She blinked. He wasn't serious, was he?

Before she could ask after his sanity, he stood and paced at the foot of her bed.

"Some twenty years ago," he said finally, "a young girl by the name of Samantha Collins was a student here. She was a pretty girl, willful, manipulative many would have said, and the sole heir to an old, rich family. Because of a prank her best friend was pulling on a boy, she was severely injured, knocked unconscious for a moment, and she had forgotten everything, all of her friends, everything about herself and the life she had known, the person she had been.

"Her friends helped her, and she grew into a completely different person, with more compassion and honesty and conviction. She left the influence of her parents, who were jailed for attempting to drug her into a marriage she was opposed to. She lived with a man she loved for several years during the war, but he was taken to jail and she went mad, killing herself, drowning herself in the river.

"There was something about the change in her," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, "that always bothered me. And last year, I found this clipping in a London paper and saved it."

Michelle took the newspaper clipping from his hands and skimmed it. It was a birth announcement of a Samantha Collins, the second child to a perfectly normal family on the West End.

"I suspect," he said softly, "that if I wait fifteen years there will be some terrible accident that will befall her, possibly put her into, oh, what's the word, coma? Yes, and then several years later she will die inexplicably, drowned with no obvious cause of drowning. Do you see?"

Michelle did see, he thought that somehow this was the same Samantha Collins who had suffered the same 'amnesia' she had, and that would explain her not knowing where she was or what was going on, but she didn't understand how it had happened.

"What happened, Miss Simpson?" he asked gently. "What really happened before you woke up here?"

"I... I was being chased," she said softly. "I was being chased through the streets and they caught me and he... he was going to rape me again, sir. I didn't want him to, I wanted him to leave me alone and I was stupid and I spoke against him and he... he hit me back against the wall, I think. I don't know. I don't remember anything after that."

He nodded sadly and said, "You were unhappy with your life, things were wrong, and then you experience a physical trauma in both worlds. Your consciousness was transferred here where you can start over, in a sense. There was no hope for a fresh start in your other life, was there?"

Realizing that he was right, she shook her head.

"I'm not sure I understand exactly how it works," he admitted, "but at least we know the why. That's a start. I can trust you, Miss Simpson, not to tell anyone of this?"

"Of course, sir," she said nervously. "I don't even know who I would tell."

"We'll have to get you to blend in for now," he said with a sigh. "Amnesia will suffice as it did before. I hope that you will apply yourself to learn quickly, and not to get too caught up in what's going on around you. It may take some time before we can figure out how to set things right, but you need to remember that this is not where you belong. All right?"

"Yes, sir," she whispered.

That should be easy enough to remember. She already felt like a stranger, and didn't expect that the feeling would subside as she went about trying to figure out who her other self was in the universe she'd landed herself in.

The only problem was, she would have to go home. Where she was had to be better than where she'd come from. It had to. Nothing was as bad as what she'd come from.

Michelle sat up a little straighter, watching the man leave the room, wondering what the rest of the place looked like outside of the room she was being kept in, the infirmary.

"Michelle?"

There was a voice, a quiet, questioning voice.

She looked over at the voice, only to find a stalky, strong-looking red-haired boy about her age looking down at her, terror in his eyes.

"Yes," she answered, realizing that she was looking at one of the most attractive people she'd ever seen, although not in a conventional way. There was a tenderness in his brown eyes that she'd never seen before in the eyes of another human being that didn't work at some hospital.

"They said you wouldn't remember me," he said softly, sitting down by her bed. "I... I'm sorry. The explosion, well, I guess it was mostly Fred's fault but I still feel responsible."

"I... I'm sorry," Michelle said, feeling genuinely upset that she didn't know who this was or why he looked so terribly sad, but she knew she didn't want him to be sad. "I... What happened? I don't..."

"You don't remember, yeah," he said awkwardly. Then he cleared his throat. "Well, I'm George. Um, we've been friends since second year, so for a few years now, anyway. You didn't like me much first year because Fred and I used to tease you and Angelina a lot and... Well, anyway, Fred's my twin."

"Right," Michelle said, nodding to indicate that she understood. "And Angelina's my friend?"

"Yeah," George said with a sad sort of smile. "You and Angelina and Alicia are really close. Anyway... Fred and I, we were testing a firework and we didn't know you were coming up the stairway and the explosion knocked you down the stairs and... and... I'm so sorry, Michelle. I never meant... I mean, I never wanted... I'm so sorry."

She thought he might be about to cry, but she was still trying to sort out the story in his mind.

"Right," she sighed. "I'm sorry, this is just a lot to get used to in a short period of time and I... It's overwhelming. I mean, I don't remember _anything_."

"Right," George sighed sadly. "How's your head?"

"Better," she admitted.

"Scoot over then, munchkin," he teased, and she wasn't sure why, but her lips upturned into a smile as if it were the most natural thing to do in response to being addressed that way, and she scooted over in the bed and he crawled under the covers beside her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders comfortingly. "I'll tell you everything I know," he sighed. "I know it's not enough, but I'll do my best. So, you know when you were born and stuff?"

"I remember what my birthday is," she said nervously. "But... I don't remember my parents at all."

"Wow, that's really depressing," he muttered, more to himself than anything. "Well, your mother makes really delicious molasses biscuits, and I don't even like molasses, so that's a good thing. She's... well, I'm not really sure where you get your good looks from, because neither of your parents is particularly attractive, but they're the friendliest souls in the whole of Sussex."

Michelle nodded, but she was finding it hard to listen to everything he said. She would pick on little tidbits, like how he said that she had good looks.

She'd never thought of herself as anything particularly special to look at. But it made her feel a bit tingly where his hand brushed her arm and his arm touched the back of her neck when she thought he thought of her as good looking. She wondered what that meant.

"So," he said. "Let me think... You like spending days outside when it's warm enough and dry enough..."

"Where are we?" she asked curiously.

George blinked.

"Um, Hogwarts," he said quickly. "Um..."

"No, I meant where in the country," she said, cutting him off, and the relief filled his eyes instantly. "I already know we're in the infirmary at Hogwarts. Although, that's about all I know."

"We're in Scotland," he said with a small, sheepish smile. "By Hogsmeade."

"What's Hogsmeade?" she asked curiously.

"Um... It's... Wow, it's the largest wizarding community in Britain. It might actually be the only all-wizarding community. I don't remember. You'd have to ask Granger to be sure."

"Granger?" she asked. "Who's Granger?"

"Ah, Ron's friend," he said. Then he frowned. "Oh, Ron's my little brother. Merlin, this is hard."

It was all she could do not to giggle at his use of the word 'Merlin', but she thought that might not go over too well. So she held it in and just smiled at him instead.

"I'm sorry I don't remember," she said, "but thank you for helping me."

"Yeah," he said. "It's the least I can do."

Then, to her surprise, he kissed her forehead and said, "I've got to go, but I'll be back for you tomorrow, okay?"

And before she had time to process what he'd done and said, he was gone and she was left staring after him in the hospital wing in an unfamiliar world.


	2. Hold On

The following morning, Michelle woke up to three faces smiling down at her anxiously. One was George - she was fairly sure that it was him and not his twin, although she didn't know how they might look different - and she supposed the two girls with him were Angelina and Alicia, although she didn't know which was which.

"Good morning, munchkin," George said happily. "I said I'd come back for you."

"Madam Pomfrey's letting you out for breakfast," the girl with dark hair and pale skin said happily. "Um, George said you wouldn't remember our names, so I'm Alicia."

Michelle nodded.

"Hi," she said nervously. She then turned to the dark-skinned girl with curly, black hair. "So you're Angelina, then."

"Yeah," the girl said awkwardly. "This is sort of my fault, actually."

How was it that it happened to be everyone's fault at once?

"Angie," George said warningly, "I told you-"

"I know about your dumb fireworks," she grumbled. "But if I hadn't kept Michelle from going to the library when she wanted because of my dumb hair she wouldn't have even run into your stupid fireworks."

"You don't think they're stupid when Fred sets them off outside your window," George pointed out.

Michelle wasn't sure, but she thought that Angelina might be blushing slightly at this point.

"I don't think blaming yourselves is very productive," Michelle said honestly, mostly because she was a bit sick of people finding the cause of her trauma when she knew the cause: She was trying to escape being raped in the city. But she couldn't tell them that, because according to everything they knew about her, she was the Michelle they'd known for years who'd fallen down a staircase because of a rogue firework and lost her memory, not a Michelle from a different part of reality waking up in their Michelle's body because they suffered trauma at the same time.

No, she couldn't say anything about that, so she put on the uniform Angelina brought her behind the screen while her friends waited for her to change so they could all go to breakfast together.

Michelle couldn't remember the last time she'd put on a school uniform, but she did remember that it didn't look too much like this one.

The change of bra and panties were vastly appreciated, as well as change of socks, although the long, gray knee socks with gold and scarlet trim at the top were a bit itchy for her taste. Next she put on the white, button-up shirt, thinking that it felt like a very gentle material, not like the starchy, stiff cotton she'd worn at her school when she was twelve or so and still had to go to school. She didn't know enough about fabrics to know what it was, but Michelle decided she liked it.

Then she pulled on the pleated skirt that came a little below mid-thigh: Not so short as to be inappropriate, but short enough that it could be worn with knee-socks and not look tacky. The tie was difficult as she hadn't had to deal with a tie in a long time, but she fumbled with it until she thought it was passible, pulled on the cardigan, buttoned it up, and pulled on the robes and left them unfastened, sensing that someone was going to take exception with her shoddily fastened tie.

Sure enough, as soon as she stepped out from behind the screen, Alicia tutted, fixed the tie, tucked it back under the cardigan, but left the robes unfastened, like her own.

"Come on then," George said. "Fred and Lee have saved us seats."

"Lee?" Michelle asked as she walked quickly beside them.

"Lee Jordan," Angelina explained. "Fred and George's friend. He's a goon. Commentates the Quidditch matches."

Since Michelle had no idea what Quidditch was, that meant nothing to her, but she was too busy staring at all of the moving portraits in the corridor to care much to ask about it at that moment.

They walked quickly past suits of armor, and when they took a flight of stairs downward, Michelle saw the flight below them changing course. She held in her squeak of surprise and prayed theirs wouldn't move as they walked.

To her good fortune, it didn't. They hurried down another corridor and a set of marble stairs into what she assumed was an entrance hall, judging by the massive doors that looked like the front doors to a Scottish castle, which she supposed was exactly what she must be in, judging by what she'd seen.

Ignoring the giant doors, Michelle's friends went through another large set of doors, which were open, and into a large hall with a ceiling that reflected the overcast weather she had a feeling was outside. She gaped at the ceiling and George smirked at her knowingly.

"Like a first year all over again," he said softly so the girls didn't hear. "I like you like this, I think, mostly. The ceiling's bewitched to look like the sky outside, as I think you may have started to guess. It gets very pretty on starry, clear nights when you can't even count all the stars in the sky, there's so many."

She looked up into his brown eyes and wondered if he ever spoke so poetically to anyone else. Something in the pit of her stomach suggested that he didn't.

They made their way across the large hall toward a far table, which she assumed was the one she was expected to sit at. Some people were looking up at her curiously from their various places in the hall, and whispering had begun behind hands she'd never seen before. Her stomach sank uncomfortably as she remembered the rumors that had been spread about her before, part of the reason she dropped out in the first place:

Whore.

Slut.

It seemed that such rumors spread fastest in places like this, and although she doubted that was what they were saying about her behind their hands and across tables, Michelle wondered how long it would take for rumors of her lost memory to morph into such things, or worse.

She sat down beside George, who sat across from someone who certainly looked his twin. She had no idea how she was meant to tell them apart, but she didn't have too much time to dwell on that thought.

"You took long enough," the boy who was named Fred said teasingly. "Lee and I were betting on whether the monster had gotten you."

Michelle blinked.

"Monster?"

The boy with dreadlocks, who must be Lee, nodded.

"Yeah, George didn't mention it? The monster of Slytherin. There's been... what, how many Petrified?"

Michelle looked over at George, who shrugged.

"Well, there's the cat," Fred said. "And then that kid with the camera that was following Harry around like a weirdo. That's it, though, I think."

Still, having a monster on the loose didn't feel like a great world to fall into.

"Petrified?" Michelle said. "Not dead, though?"

"Nah, frozen like glass," Fred said with a shrug. "I think it's kind of fun, actually, since Dumbledore says they'll be able to heal them up right away when the mandrakes are mature."

She shivered a bit, thinking how this petrification seemed an awful lot like the coma her body was in in her other life, the coma Samantha Collins had mysteriously drowned in. What if their consciousnesses were off in their 'other' body somewhere? Of course, he did say one was a cat and Michelle had a feeling that it wouldn't work the same with animals.

"You okay?" Alicia asked. "You're shaking."

"Damn it, Fred," George growled. "You've gone and scared her! I told you to keep your fat mouth shut!"

"I'm sorry," Fred said incredulously. "Michelle was never scared of anything. I didn't-"

"Think?" George snapped. "No, why would you? You never do!"

To the obvious surprise of everyone at the table, George then stood abruptly and stormed out of the hall.

"I should probably go after him," Lee muttered. "We're not supposed to be walking about alone."

Lee then took off, leaving Fred alone with the girls, baffled, staring after George and Lee.

"Right," Fred muttered, stabbing his sausages rather violently. "Right."

Michelle wondered what was going on, and then she realized that George was upset with Fred, probably blaming him in some way for her injury, and then for scaring her after the injury.

"I don't blame you," she said softly, looking up at Fred. "The injury, I mean. It's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault. It's just one of those things that happens, you know?"

"Yeah, but not to you," Fred said with a frown, looking down at his food sullenly. "The idea that you don't remember anything hits George pretty hard."

Alicia and Angelina looked interested and confused, and Michelle was curious, but the way Fred wasn't meeting anyone's eye told her that he wasn't going to answer any questions on his statement.

The girls took Michelle up to the common room, told her the password to give to the portrait of a fat lady in pink silk, affectionately called "The Fat Lady", she found, and led up the stairway to the girls dormitory where she lived.

"This is your bed," Alicia said kindly, pointing to a bed between the one she sat on and the one Angelina went toward.

It was a four-poster bed with scarlet bed hangings and sheets, a bedside table with a few books on it, and a jewelry box.

"This is mine?" she asked, pointing to the box.

It was small, rectangular, with hand-painted roses on the top of the mahogany lid.

"Yeah," Alicia said, grinning at it. "The twins made it for you last year for your birthday, but I think it was George's idea."

Michelle gingerly lifted the lid to find a small but elegant collection of pendants and earrings.

"Wow," she breathed. "This all looks so expensive."

"Gifts from friends, mostly," Angelina admitted. "And yes, some of it is very expensive. You've got pretty expensive tastes, probably because your parents are very middle class and you don't get fancy things much. But the boys say that you should have as many beautiful and expensive things they can get you."

Michelle couldn't wrap her mind around this. She'd never been given proper gifts before, much less such beautiful, costly gifts. Judging from the shape of the clothes the twins had been wearing, they could hardly afford things like this for themselves, much less for her.

"But why would they do that?" she asked, confused. "I just don't get it."

"Well," Alicia said slowly. "Don't... don't say anything, but we're pretty sure George likes you."

"What?"

"Likes you," Angelina said excitedly. "Like, he has a crush on you. You know?"

Michelle blinked.

A crush on her? George, the twin, the one who'd looked so frightened when he visited her in the hospital wing... George had a crush on her?

Her head was reeling and she flopped back onto the pillows of the bed that was hers, smelled like a perfume she could imagine herself wearing...

"This is all too much," she muttered, more to herself than to her friends, but the girls murmured at her sympathetically anyway.

It was strange that they were behaving sympathetic, Michelle thought. They had no way to understand what she was going through. Still, it wasn't their faults, and she had to remind herself that these people cared about her, which was a strange concept.

"I think I'm just going to go to take a nap," she sighed, looking around the room for a dresser or something. "Where are my clothes?"

Angelina pointed at the trunk at the foot of the four-poster bed.

Michelle knelt at the trunk, opening it to find a small collection of school-uniform outfits, a bit of casual clothing, toiletries, sleep clothes, and a stack of books and what she assumed must be school equipment.

When her teeth were brushed and her clothes changed, Michelle tucked herself into the large, comfortable bed and pulled the curtains around her, but she couldn't sleep. She just stared at the curtains all night, wondering what she was going to do. She stayed there for all day but meals.

The following morning, she was told, was a Monday.

"So we have classes?" Michelle asked nervously as she pulled on her clothes. "But... but I don't kn- remember any magic! What am I supposed to do?"

"Professor McGonagall told all of the other professors about your condition," Alicia explained. "Nobody's going to call on you, and we'll tutor you over the holiday."

"You'll be all caught up by the start of next term," Angelina said reassuringly. "I mean, we've got O.W.L.s, so it's good revision for us, too."

"O.W.L.s?" Michelle asked, wondering what that could possibly mean.

"Oh, they're the exams," Alicia said sheepishly, looking through her lipstick collection for the shade she wanted. "Fifth year you take O.W.L.s in all your subjects so that you know what subjects you can continue in for N.E.W.T.s, which are the final exams seventh year, the ones that determine your entire lives."

Michelle gulped.

"What do I want to be?" she asked nervously. "I... I don't know what I want to be."

Alicia and Angelina shared nervous looks.

"Well," Angelina said with a shrug, "I want to play Quidditch. That's been my dream for I don't even know how long."

Michelle wasn't going to ask what Quidditch was. She figured it was a sport, game, or some sort of style of music.

"And I'm probably going to do Ancient Runes research," Alicia said proudly. "Someday I'd like to be a professor."

"But what about me?" Michelle asked desperately. "What did I want? What am I good at? Am... am I good at anything?"

"Trust me," Angelina said, tossing a tube of mascara back at Alicia, "you're brilliant. I really don't know what you wanted to be. You never said. But I'm sure you'll be fine. We've got a couple of years to decide, and that's even with not knowing what our O.W.L.s are. A lot of people are likely to change their minds when they get their minds because they have to, never mind the ones who just change their minds because that's what people our age do."

Michelle nodded, reminding herself to breath as she hastily ran a brush through her hair.

She followed the girls out of the dormitory, slinging the book bag over her shoulder that Angelina had filled for her, down the stairs to the common room where they ran into Lee, who joined them out of the portrait hole, and down the unfamiliar set of corridors and stairways that Michelle dreaded having to learn to the marble staircase that led to the entrance Hall, which led to the Great Hall, which lead to breakfast.

The twins were already sitting at the table, loading their plates up with sausages and toast.

Michelle sat down, nervous. The girls and Lee sat down with her.

"Hello, ladies," the twin she was sure was George said brightly, great contrast from the day before when he was so sullen and twitchy.

"Good morning," Alicia said loftily. "What's McGonagall doing?"

"Taking a list of students staying over the holidays," Fred explained. "Michelle, we wrote your mum, we're still going with you for the holiday. This way we can help you readjust and everything, you know, because of the accident."

"Oh," Michelle said lightly. "That's good."

It was good. She was glad that she would have familiar faces going with her to this place that was supposedly her home.

When Professor McGonagall came around, none of them signed on the paper.

"Where are you all going for the holiday?" Fred asked.

"My family's taking me to France," Angelina said excitedly. "Nice."

"Oh, I'm so jealous," Alicia grumbled. "We're visiting my grandmother in Bath. More like we're going to see if she dies while we're there. Every holiday, I _swear_."

"I'm going to visit Oliver for a bit," Lee shrugged. "It's going to be awkward. I'll have to tell him about Michelle's memory."

George tensed across the table, and Michelle sensed that there was something significant about this Oliver.

"You mean he doesn't know yet?" Alicia asked in hushed tones.

The boys all shook their heads and all five of Michelle's friends looked down the table to a boy who was sitting with a bowl of porridge and a journal of some sort that his face was stuck in. He was burly, not unattractive, with brown hair and what she could tell from down the table were dark brown eyes.

"Who's Oliver?" she asked nervously. For some reason, she thought he might be her boyfriend, the way they were talking. But if he was, why wouldn't he have been the first to know?

They all exchanged glances as though trying to decide which one of them was supposed to tell her. Finally, George said, "He's been one of your best friends since you were kids. You grew up in the same neighborhood. They moved just before he started Hogwarts, so about six years ago. But you're closer to him than anyone else."

"So why did nobody tell him about my amnesia?" Michelle asked, still very confused.

"Because nobody wanted to face his fury when he found out," Angelina explained with a slight shiver. "We've decided Lee gets to do it, because he's the only one who's not on the team."

"Team?" Michelle asked.

"Quidditch," Lee said happily. "I'm the commentator. But the twins and the girls, they're all on the team and Oliver's the captain. It's sort of his life. It's better if he doesn't have that sort of strong emotion associated with someone on the team delivering the news."

Alicia leaned over and whispered, "You had a massive crush on him, but he's never noticed. Too obsessed with Quidditch."

At this, Michelle's eyes went almost instinctively to George, who winced. She knew he'd heard what Alicia had said, and she couldn't help but feel bad.


	3. Sunshine

A little over a week later, a blizzard had begun to rage outside on the grounds. Michelle saw it every time she looked out of a window, and she wondered if this was typical Scottish weather, or if it was a worse year than usual. She'd never been to Scotland.

"You'll never guess what happened," Fred hissed as he, George, and Lee found her, Alicia, and Angelina studying for Transfiguration.

"What happened?" Angelina asked dryly, not even looking up at the boys.

"Some second year talked to a snake," Lee said excitedly.

"_What?_" Michelle gapped, looking up at Lee like he'd just grown a second head. "Talked to a snake? You're joking, right?"

"Nope, not a joke," Fred said with a shrug. "I know, weird, right? I mean, I'm no history expert, but have any of you heard anything about a Parselmouth since old Slytherin himself?"

Parselmouth?

"I think there have been some," Alicia said slowly. "But none of the same level of power, from what I know. You'd think we would have heard about them."

"Maybe that was one of the days you actually fell asleep in History of Magic, Alicia," George teased.

Even Michelle, who was finding everything about her classes far more fascinating than she'd expected, was having a hard time staying awake in the one class taught by a ghost. She had expected that to be the most interesting class of all, but no, everyone but Alicia slept through that class, and even Alicia succumbed on a few days, from what Angelina had told Michelle.

"What's a Parselmouth?" Michelle finally asked, expecting them to give her looks like she was an idiot, like she'd gotten from some people when she'd first gotten out of the hospital wing. It had been... annoying, to say the least, but the twins had whipped people into shape.

But she had no derisive looks from her friends, despite the fact that she had a feeling this was something she should have known.

"It's a person who can speak Parseltongue," Alicia explained. "Snake language."

"They talk to snakes?" Michelle asked incredulously. "Like, like speaking French or something? They just speak hissing?"

"Yeah, I guess," Alicia said with a shrug. "It's a pretty rare gift, and it can't be learned, so there's not much known about it. But that's the basic idea, yeah."

Michelle was getting the feeling that things in this wizarding world were a bit more complicated than the life she'd known.

"Right, so, how about that blizzard?" Lee said excitedly. "Think we can sneak outside and have a snowball fight?"

Angelina snorted and Alicia sighed, annoyed.

"Maybe if you could even pry the door open," Michelle said, rolling her eyes. "It's already up to your knees out there."

"I guess that means she's forgotten about our secret passages," George said, wiggling his eyebrows excitedly. "We were thinking of doing this snowball fights in Hogsmeade."

Michelle had already learned that there were Hogsmeade trips about every month were students third year and older who had signed permission could go to the nearby village and explore. But she'd been informed that the December trip had been canceled in light of the blizzard and they wouldn't be allowed to go again until probably February. So needless to say, she was very confused.

"Secret passages?" she said, although that bit hadn't really surprised her. It was, after all, a massive, old castle built by wizards. "And I thought there wouldn't be any Hogsmeade trips until next term."

Fred sighed.

"Oh, Georgie, I rather like her like this, she's so innocent, like an ickle firstie."

"Be nice," Alicia snapped. "If you're going to tell her get it over with and stop being such a pest, Fred!"

"We know the school better than anyone," George explained over his twin's indignant spluttering. "There are a handful of secret passageways that lead out of the castle, and one of them goes straight to the cellar of the sweetshop in Hogsmeade. That's how we want to do it."

"The cellar, eh?" Michelle said, smirking. "So that means you have to get to the main part of the shop to leave the building?"

"Yes," George said slowly, recognizing that she was triumphant about something he hadn't foreseen.

"So how are you going to open the shop door?"

He swore under his breath, slapping the hard surface of the table they were sitting at.

"You always do that," he sighed. "You always find the way to dash our poorly-thought-out plans, no matter how exciting they are."

Michelle just smiled to herself, knowing that he wasn't really upset with her. He was more amused than anything, it seemed.

"Oliver was asking after you the other day," Angelina said causally, changing the conversation. "It seems that since he can't fly in this weather he has time to think of more than just Quidditch."

"What did you say?" Michelle asked nervously.

Angelina shrugged.

"I said that you've been spending most of your time studying. I didn't mention that it was because you'd forgotten everything you've spent the last five years learning, but he needn't know that right away."

Michelle nodded absently, looking out the window into the grounds and thinking about how her friend who doesn't know that she's not the same person would react when he found that she had lost her memories. She imagined it wouldn't go over well, since their childhood together was completely forgotten.

She wanted to say she could imagine what that might feel like, but she'd never had someone growing up who she knew for long enough to really have those sorts of childhood memories with. Life had been a blur of places and faces, most of them being the sort she didn't want to remember anyway. Despite what she had agreed with Professor Dumbledore, Michelle was finding herself increasingly wanting to stay where she was, with the people she was with, even though she knew it wasn't really where she belonged.

It was better than where she belonged.

The following day, Care of Magical Creatures was cancelled, which left plenty of people spending time studying indoors, or being generally unproductive, which was what the twins were doing while Alicia and Michelle went over Alicia's history notes.

"You'll never guess what just happened!" Lee roared as he came into the common room, clutching his side and panting from exertion. "There's been more Petrifications! A double attack!"

Michelle felt her eyes go wide as she thought about how easily she could be attacked by whatever was causing the attacks.

"Who was it?" George asked excitedly, sitting up straighter and leaning forward a bit. "Another Gryffindor?"

Lee shook his head.

"Well, no, not exactly," he muttered. "One was a Hufflepuff second year, but get this... The other was Nearly-Headless Nick!"

By that point, Michelle had been re-acquainted with the stuffy but friendly ghost of Gryffindor House, who had given her his condolences quite sincerely about her accident.

"Wait, how do you Petrify a ghost?" Fred asked curiously.

"The more pressing question is how they're going to feed him the potion when they've made it to revive the victims," Angelina said, pressing her lips together thoughtfully. "Do ghosts eat?"

The six of them looked around at each other and shrugged together.

Michelle was pleased to finally not be the only one who didn't know things. It was refreshing, not constantly to be the student of everyone around her. She was, after all, at a school. No matter how much Alicia insisted that teaching Michelle was helping her revise, Michelle knew that it wasn't as useful as if Alicia could spend her time focusing more on her own weaknesses.

Actually, Michelle had rather forgotten all of the talk about the Chamber of Secrets until the news of the Petrified boy and ghost reached her. She'd been so focused on school and learning everything in time for her exams that she had quite forgotten that she was in a very dangerous sort of world, with a very real sort of predator out for students, and ghosts, apparently.

"George," Michelle asked, closing her Transfiguration and moving to sit on the floor beside the red-haired twin she felt most comfortable with. He jumped slightly at hearing her voice so close, but then he looked up at her questioningly. "Tell me more about the Chamber of Secrets, please."

He sat up a bit, leaning against the back of the armchair Fred was dangling his legs over the edge of.

"Well," George said thoughtfully, clearing his throat. "Slytherin, the founder, I mean, didn't get along with the other founders very well, and it got worse and worse. Mostly they argued over the, erm, standard of students who were being let into the school. Gryffindor had started accepting Muggleborns, students with no magical family background, and Slytherin thought that such children weren't fit to study magic, even though they had the spark in them. Before he left, he swore that his heir would purge the school one day of all those unfit to study magic. Anyway, they never found the chamber and everybody thought it was legend."

"But it's obviously not," Lee said teasingly, tickling her to spook her, but she just slapped his hands away, annoyed.

"And the Petrified kids," Michelle said softly. "Are they all Muggleborn?"

"I don't know about the Hufflepuff kid for sure," Lee said, "but otherwise, yeah. Well, I mean, the cat's not Muggleborn, obviously, but Filch is a Squib, I guess."

"Squib?"

"Someone with magical family who can't do magic," Alicia explained as she scribbled something hastily into her revision notes. "You don't have any in your immediate family."

"So I'm not Muggleborn?" Michelle asked nervously, trying not to show how afraid she was.

"What?" George said, shocked. "No, you're Half-blood! Were you thinking you'd be next?"

She just bit her lip and looked down at the red carpet she was sitting on, picking at a spot that needed repairing, not wanting them to think she'd been worried and silly, especially if it was as silly of a thing as George's reaction made her feel it was.

But before she knew what was happening, George had wrapped her up in a fierce, firm hug.

"You're not allowed to be sad, sunshine," he whispered in her ear, and she fought off a shiver at the closeness. At first she thought it was because she hadn't had someone so close to her since she'd been attacked in the other reality, but then she realized that she _liked_ his closeness.

So what was the shiver? Did people shiver at things they liked? Was there something wrong with her? Was the shiver the initial reaction to the closeness, unrelated to liking how good he felt close to her?

Michelle didn't have much time to think this over, though, because George, Fred, and Lee were going to try to peek into the hospital wing at the Petrified ghost, to know what it looked like.

"George hasn't called you sunshine in years," Angelina said with a small smirk, looking at the portrait hole the boys had just left out of. "When you started mooning over Oliver, George changed. That was when Alicia and I decided he must have a crush on you. Of course, he'd gotten more open about it lately, but then..."

Then Michelle had lost her memory was what Angelina had been about to say, but she hastily changed to asking a question about the theory behind Switching Spells, giving Michelle a moment to turn it over in her mind in peace.

George's behavior toward her seemed to awaken something she didn't think she'd ever felt before. And she felt the sudden urge to go up to her room and look through her things.

"I'll... I'll be right back," Michelle said slowly. "I... I just remembered something I meant to look for and..."

She trailed off as she walked away, turning her back on the baffled looks of Angelina and Alicia at her vague and strange statement.

It wasn't in the jewelry box, Michelle decided, knowing that she hadn't seen anything of import in there before, nothing that wasn't jewelry, anyway, and she knew herself. She never would have hidden something in a place that other girls were likely to poke through when she wasn't in the room. She opened the trunk and looked through her books and found one that wasn't one of the ones for studying. She opened the cover and gasped.

"A book safe," she murmured, realizing that someone had hollowed out the inside of the book, just large enough to hide the multitude of letters she had.

She pulled them out and dumped them onto her duvet, closing the curtains around her, lighting her wand and setting it beside her as she read each letter, one by one. They were all headed with "Sweet Sunshine" and signed off with "Your Love, George."

From what she could glean from just one half of the letters, she and George had been secretly dating for since the start of term. She couldn't tell why they'd kept it quiet or why he hadn't told her, but it certainly explained his behavior more than the crush the girls had told her about. She nibbled her lip, turning over the letters and feeling a blush fill her cheeks as she read a description he had written out in excruciating detail of a dream he'd had of kissing her on the Quidditch pitch, and how it turned into things other than kissing.

Part of her was horrified at the thought of being with a boy - _any_ boy - in that way. The idea of voluntarily submitting herself to that sort of pain and... and...

But it couldn't always feel like being raped, could it? And the body she was in had probably not be raped, if Dumbledore was right and her consciousness was the only bit that had actually been transferred. But if that was the case... How had both of Samantha Collins's bodies died at once?

Michelle shivered, wondering what would happen to her here if something happened to her other body. Was that how it worked, or did it only work if something happened to the conscious body?

But there were other, more immediate questions she wanted answered, questions she could find the answers to, so Michelle shoved the letters back into the book safe, stuck the books safe on the bottom of her trunk once more, and made her way to the common room again. The girls were done studying, off somewhere else, probably gone to the loo together, but the boys had just gotten back to the common room when Michelle stepped off the stairs, looking at George and saying, "I need to talk with you... privately."

Fred raised his eyebrows and Lee didn't seem to notice she'd said anything at all, so intent he was on his dormitory, racing across the room. She thought she saw George blanch slightly at her demand, but he nodded, and led her toward the portrait hole.

Michelle followed George to some unused classroom, trying not to think about the intense look in his eyes when he met hers and clearing her throat, which suddenly felt remarkably dry.

"You... I found the letters."

Those eyes flashed with something so quick she couldn't decipher it, but her whole stomach turned in a way she'd never felt before.

"Oh," George said, his mouth twitching as he thought of what to say. "So what do you know? What - what do you want to know?"

Very good questions, both of them.

"I don't know much," Michelle admitted. "I know that we were together but we didn't tell anyone, but I don't know why."

George shrugged.

"At the time it made a lot of sense. We didn't want Fred to feel like you were splitting us apart, and you really didn't want to deal with the social stuff that comes with being a girlfriend." He sat down, kicking the leg of the desk he was on and shrugging. "I went with it because I wanted to be with you so badly that anything seemed like a good idea, but when they told me you forgot everything... I've never been so upset about anything in my life, sunshine."

Michelle didn't know what to say to that, so she just looked at him for a moment. Then, she said, "Why did you tell me?"

He swallowed hard and bit his lip for a moment. Then he kicked his heel hard against the leg of the chair and said, "If I could have just opened my mouth and told you everything and known that you would believe every word and let me hold you and kiss you like we used you then I would have. But honestly, do you think that could have happened?"

And he was right. She would have been worried, suspicious, and afraid of him. She would have asked the others and they wouldn't have known anything about it, so they would have been confused, to say the least, and then she wouldn't have trusted George and would have lost him as a friend.

Michelle didn't answer him, but she didn't have to. The look on his face said it all. Somehow, seeing him look so dejected made her feel a bit sick with guilt. No, she hadn't done anything wrong, but he looked so upset...

Before Michelle really thought about it she found her feet leading her right up in front of him, her hand reaching out to touch his cheek. He turned his eyes to hers, leaning slightly into her touch. She should say something, she realized, or pull away and figure out what she was going to say, because it seemed harder to think of appropriate words with the smooth skin of his cheek under her fingertips.

But instead of pulling away, she found his lips meeting hers.

Was her quickened heartbeat from the kiss or the fear in her chest of being kissed? Were they the same thing?

But it was a gentle, chaste kiss, not like anything she'd ever experienced, and she wanted another.

Apparently, Michelle Simpson was dating George Weasley.


	4. Meet the Parents

Michelle shivered as she sat on the Hogwarts Express for the first time, sitting beside George while Fred was off taking care of some 'business' with Lee.

"Do you think... I mean, my parents..."

She didn't know how to word what she was saying, so Michelle fell silent, looking down at her hands, just afraid.

George kissed her forehead sweetly and said, "Relax, sunshine. Your parents love you, and it won't matter to them that you don't remember anything."

"But I don't even know my parents," she whispered, horrified. "That must be terrible for them."

"It's not your fault," he reminded her for the hundredth time that morning. "They understand."

She hoped he was right, cuddling a bit closer to him to stave off the cold. They didn't have too far to travel from the train station, George assured her, so she didn't wear her heaviest jacket and packed it instead. This was a stupid thing of her to do, since it was a very long trip from Scotland to London, even on a magical train.

"Your hands are freezing," he said, shocked, taking them in his. "Why didn't you dress more warmly?"

Michelle just shrugged, trying not to protest when he let go of her hands and stood up. He fumbled through his trunk for a moment and pulled out a Weasley sweater, the one with a large G on the front, and tossed it at her. She blinked up at him, realizing that the knitted sweater in her hands smelled just like George and she wondered when her nose had started recognizing what George smelled like.

"Put it on then," he told her, latching his trunk again and sitting down beside her as she fumbled to pull on the sweater, realizing that it smelled even more like him on the inside as she tried to pull her head through the hole at the top.

George laughed, helping her get the sweater on, and when she finally pulled her head through, hair frizzed and up in all directions, she realized just how close his face was to hers and her breath caught as she realized the intensity with which he was watching her. Before Michelle had a moment to think about it, his lips were pressed to hers, gently, sweetly, his fingers smoothing her hair down at the same time. She found that she was kissing him back and enjoying it.

Before she really had much time to think on this feeling that was building inside of her as she kissed George Weasley, there was the sound of clearing a throat and the parted, looking up to find Fred standing there, sliding the compartment door closed behind him, an eyebrow raised expectantly.

"Care to explain?" he said firmly.

Michelle could feel a blush covering her cheeks as she looked at George, not sure what they were going to do. She didn't know the nuances of this world, the things that differed between Fred and George, the social dynamics she had fallen into.

"So, Michelle and I are dating, sort of," George said slowly.

"For how long?"

"Start of term."

"You were going to tell me when?"

"Um, probably around now, actually, but then she lost her memory and-"

"And you thought you'd lost her, right. Well, good to see I rank so high."

"I wasn't telling anyone else until she decided it was a good idea, though, and that could have been ages, or at least until Wood's gone."

Wood...

Oliver Wood. Michelle felt a guilty feeling in the pit of her stomach. Was she really keeping the relationship a secret because of her crush on Oliver Wood?

Fred also looked annoyed at this statement.

"You realize that's ridiculous," he said slowly. "I mean, everyone knows you're mad about her anyway. Why wouldn't you just tell us?"

George didn't answer, just shrugged and kissed Michelle's cheek, hugging her closer, and she got the very distinct feeling that she was the reason they'd kept it quiet, that it had been her idea, her condition, and that George had agreed to it because he wanted her so badly that he would have agreed to just about anything she asked.

But Fred didn't push it.

The rest of the trip to London was fairly uneventful, although George held Michelle's hand the whole way, which she thought she rather liked. It was a strange sort of thing, a sweeter gesture than she was used to. She'd seen couples walking down the street holding hands and she had always wondered what the draw was to that sort of gesture. She realized, though, fingers laced in George's fingers, that it was a feeling of safety and security and caring.

And those were feelings Michelle had never felt strongly or even at all for as long as she could remember.

When they pulled in at the station, George and Fred took care of their things, and Michelle's, insisting that she needn't carry her own heavy bag. Michelle was a bit annoyed, but as she followed them out in the line waiting to go off the platform, she waited nervously, wanting to grab George's hand for that comfort again but knowing she couldn't. Why had she ever decided to go secretive with this again? Couldn't she make him change their status now that she didn't care about this Oliver Wood?

"C'mon," George said coaxingly to her. "It's our turn."

Michelle really didn't understand the point of waiting to get off the platform in groups of twos and threes and fours, but she followed them through the archway and found herself in the main part of King's Cross station in London, a place she was a bit familiar with, but when she turned for one last look at the train she saw nothing but a brick barrier between platforms nine and ten.

Confused and befuddled, Michelle was about to ask about the confusing situation when a voice she didn't know called out her name and she turned to find a kind-looking man and woman waving happily at her and the twins.

They looked quite a bit like Michelle, with light hair and skin, and the woman had a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose that bled onto her cheeks, just like Michelle. It was strange, eerie, but Michelle could absolutely picture these people as her parents.

"I... Mum?" she asked, stunned. "Dad?"

"I suppose you don't recognize," the woman said sadly. "Professor Dumbledore warned us about the memory loss. It's pretty bad?"

"Yeah," Michelle said, blushing at the lie. These people were her parents. She didn't want to lie to them. "I don't remember anything at all."

Fred put a hand on her shoulder, pushing her toward her parents a bit more, and the man she knew was her father wrapped his arms around her in a hug and she was surprised to feel like it was something familiar and pleasant. She clutched at the shirt of this father, feeling for the first time what it was like to be hugged by a parent.

Was she really going to go back to her old life, if Dumbledore found a way? How could she, when the life here was so what she needed and wanted?

"It's good that you're coming home for the break after all," her father sighed, hugging her tighter. She realized that he was holding back tears. "You had to convince us to let you bring the twins home with you this Christmas. I wanted you to stay at school, work on your studies, but I can't tell you how happy I am you're home."

"Honey, let her go, you're not letting her breathe," Michelle's mother said with a laugh. Michelle's father let go reluctantly, kissing her on the forehead gently before passing her over to her mother to be hugged again, a bit less forcefully and a bit more warmly. "All right, dear, are you ready to go home?"

Home.

Michelle nodded numbly, looking over at George, who was grinning at her as her father took her bag from George, who was still carrying it. She and the twins followed her parents out to the parking lot to a surprisingly attractive red Volkswagen Golf. The front seats were pushed forward so that the boys and Michelle could climb into the back, putting her in the middle. They were then returned to the upright so her parents could get in, her father passing her bag back to her before closing his door and starting the car.

Her foster parents had never had a car. She'd never had a foster father who'd carried her things, or hugged her, or said they were happy that she was home.

In fact, in all the time she could recall of her life she'd never really felt like she had a home.

Michelle was so stunned by the kindness and the warmth and the normalcy that was enveloping her that she just sat there in the car as her parents talked with Fred and George about school, work, silly things Michelle had done that year before losing her memory.

"And then she absolutely had to wear the boots, of course," Fred said, rolling his eyes.

"Of course," her mother laughed.

"And we were right, of course," George said, laughing.

"She fell-"

"-flat on her arse!"

Even Michelle had to laugh at that. She'd really never had things to be silly over like that, but she'd seen girls when she was at school who had worn all sorts of ridiculous outfits for no reason other than being told by their parents that they couldn't or shouldn't.

"Oh, Michelle," her mother sighed, but then she burst out in laughter. "You really are just like me."

"Really?" Michelle asked, stunned and pleased all at once.

She was just like her mother. It was a thought that brought her an immense amount of peace.

"Yes, your mother actually did the exact same thing when we were young," her father laughed. "It's silly, really, but I've known plenty of young girls who behaved similarly. Your mother had this friend in school..."

And Michelle just grinned, listening to her father detail a story of his school days and the silly things teenage girls would do.

"And then I finally agreed to go out with you, yes," her mother said, smiling wryly. "All right, well, let's let the kids out so they can go get warm!"

Michelle hadn't even realized the car had stopped, but when George gave her his hand to help her climb out of the car she blinked, surprised, handing him her bag, which he flung over his shoulder before holding his hand out for her again and he helped her get out of the Volkswagen, steadying her on her feet as she looked around.

It wasn't a large house, but a house it was, cute and sweet on a small little neighborhood street with a Tudor exterior in browns and whites and a nice little rose garden in the front, from the look of the snow-covered bushes. She would have liked to have seen the place in spring instead, when the flowers were in bloom and the street wasn't full of drab, gray light from the overcast sky.

"C'mon, then," George said, closing the car door and looking at her pointedly. "Inside before you freeze, love."

"Right," Michelle whispered, still trying to wrap her brain around this being her actual home.

Going up the steps that led up to the front door was even more surreal than standing there, looking at the house and when she stepped into the sterile white entryway she took off her shoes, following George's example and then following him out into a living area where her mother was setting out biscuits and tea for the five of them.

"I'm sorry to say that the boys will have to share a room," Mrs. Simpson said slowly. "I know you know that, but I wish we had a big enough house to offer you each a room of your own."

"Really, it's fine, Mrs. Simpson," Fred assured her. "As we've said before, we've shared a room all our lives. We would even know what to do with ourselves if we had to sleep in a different room from each other."

"Well, regardless, I wish I could offer it at the very least," she replied, pushing the plate of biscuits at her daughter with a smile. "Eat, dear, you look very peaky. Has she not been eating well since her injury, boys?"

George shrugged.

"Not as much as usual, no," Fred said slowly, mixing some sugar into his tea. "But we're all a bit on edge about this Petrification thing, and she's lost her memory on top of that all."

"Yes, what's going on with the Petrifications?" Mr. Simpson asked casually.

The twins shrugged.

"Only a cat and a couple of younger kids," George said, handing Michelle the sugar. "Dumbledore says they'll be fine once they get the mandrakes old enough to make a potion to revive them. That could be a while though."

"In the meantime everyone's freaking out like the sky's falling," Fred snickered. "I dunno, they did Petrify a ghost, though. That's got to be tough."

Mr. Simpson nodded, wincing.

"Why don't we talk about something more pleasant," Mrs. Simpson said firmly to her husband. "Michelle, dear, are you sure you don't want another biscuit?"

Michelle shook her head.

"Maybe later," she muttered.

"Not too much later, dear," her father said with a grin. "Your mother's made quite a spread for dinner in honor of your arrival."

The very idea that someone would cook a dinner in her honor was making Michelle's head spin with disbelief. Why would anyone bother with so much work just for her?

"Oh," Michelle managed to say. "Thank you."

"I made your favorite," Mrs. Simpson said, smiling proudly. "Curried lamb and rice."

That was her favorite? Michelle couldn't recall ever even eating lamb, and her experience with curry was only from shady fast-food Indian joints with poor reputations and customers with even poorer reputations.

But she did like curry, so she was sure she would at least enjoy the rice. And the boys seemed pleased, so even if she didn't like it, someone would be eating it. And they'd already established that her appetite had shrunk, so if she didn't eat much she had an excuse that didn't insult her mother's cooking.

She needn't have worried, though. The curried lamb was the most amazing thing she'd ever tasted, and she said so, twice. Mrs. Simpson was clearly pleased with her daughter's praise and George looked relieved that Michelle took three helpings of the dish. She hadn't thought that she was under-eating at Hogwarts, but suddenly she couldn't get enough of the food that was put in front of her.

Dessert was chocolate pudding, which Michelle wasn't as crazy about, but she realized that it was more for the twins than for her. She ate it happily, a bit relieved that her mother had gone out of her way for Fred and George and not just her. Somehow it took away some of the pressure she felt.

After dinner, Michelle let her mother lead her up to her room, and Michelle blinked, wondering how it was possible that the room could be so absolutely _her_. She'd never had a room of her own before, but it was exactly like what she'd imagined when she was young, staring at the ceiling and praying that someone kind and loving would adopt her and take her out of the city to some pretty house in the country.

The sheets and walls were pale blue, the carpets a fuzzy shade of navy that looked exceedingly comfortable. There was a window overlooking the small little garden of a backyard, which was more than she could have dreamed of, even when dreaming of her house in the country. There was a closet and a mirror and it was all hers, twice as big as even the largest room she could remember ever staying in.

"It's beautiful," she breathed, and she hadn't realized that her mother was still standing there until she heard Mrs. Simpson sob softly.

"I'm sorry," Mrs. Simpson sniffed. "It's just that you've been begging me for years to redo your room to be more Gryffindor, and it's like you appreciate everything like it's the first time you've seen it all. It's... it's terrifying that you've forgotten everything, but there's a strange beauty in it as well."

That was a good way of putting it, Michelle thought. There was something incredibly beautiful about rediscovering everything in her world, even though for Michelle it was actually discovering it for the first time. It gave her a fresh appreciation for everything.

Her mother left the room several minutes later, after showing her where she kept all of her clothes and make-up and things, just in case she'd forgotten that, too (which of course, she had, as she'd never known in the first places). She wouldn't have needed too, though, as Michelle realized that she would have guessed it all in those places to begin with. The other version of herself had a very similar logic and organizational pattern, which was refreshing. There was at least some familiarity in the chaos of someone else's life.

Before she had a chance to really get settled, though, and just after changing into a pair of pajama pants and an old t-shirt, there was a tentative knock at the door.

Michelle answered the door and froze, surprised.

"George?" she muttered sleepily. "What- what are you d-"

His lips stoppered her words swiftly, sweetly, briefly, and he pulled away just as suddenly as he'd kissed her, his eyes twinkling apologetically.

"I don't want to keep you up," he whispered, "but I needed one last kiss. Good night, sunshine."

And then he wandered back up the hall as though it hadn't happened at all.

And he kept her up anyway, if not as he'd meant.


	5. Happy Christmas, Baby

Christmas morning had never been a particularly happy time for Michelle Simpson. She'd gotten a gift during good years, but never anything she particularly wanted, and she was lucky if it was even something she needed or could even use.

As the other Michelle Simpson, though, she woke up to a rather sizable stack of presents at the foot of her bed and she blinked, confused.

Had they come to the wrong person?

But then she remembered that this Michelle had friends and family who actually could get her things, who actually wanted to get her things.

And then Michelle felt guilty that she hadn't gotten anything for her friends. Maybe she could convince her mother to take her out to get them things, and maybe the twins would come along and help her decide what people would like. Because Michelle also realized that she had no idea what her friends would want for Christmas.

And once she worked through the guilt in the pit of her stomach at forgetting that gifts came along as part of Christmas, Michelle clambered to the end of the bed and plucked the first gift off the pile.

It was a small parcel, quickly unwrapped, and she found that it was from Alicia Spinnet.

A small locket was inside the box, with a note that said _I hope this sparks a few memories._

There was a picture of Michelle, Alicia, and Angelina on one side, laughing and kissing each other's cheeks. The other side had a picture of Michelle with the twins, who had lifted her into the air with a Christmas crown on her head and her bare feet kicking at them, attempting to get them to put her down.

The pictures were small, as was the locket, but she couldn't help but feel immensely pleased about it.

The next parcel was from Angelina, and it was a new dress, long and blue and pretty and Michelle knew that it would go perfectly with her coloring.

She would never have gotten something so nice for herself but she was pleased to have something so beautiful. She wondered what George would think of her wearing it and she decided to put it on as soon as she got out of bed to model for him, just to see his reaction to the higher-than-expected hemline.

The next was a box of chocolate cauldrons from Lee, which she set aside for later.

She pulled out another box, which was a set of fireworks from Fred, and some sweets. She checked the label and was pleased to find that they were Honeydukes sweets, not something twin-modified. She set this gift aside for later as well.

She then picked up another parcel, which she found was a gift from Oliver Wood. Her breath caught nervously.

It was a hand-carved jewelry hanging tree to keep necklaces and bracelets from getting tangled inside a box. The note made her feel very, very confused.

_Michelle,  
I made this for you this year and thought what better time to give it to you than at Christmas? I wanted to let you know that I'm sorry about ignoring you a lot during the last couple of years but, well, you know how stressful it is, being Quidditch captain. I think we've got the Cup this year, though, so as soon as that's over my attention is yours until the end of the year, I promise._

_ Then I have to start planning for the next season._

_ Anyway, I hope you're having a good Christmas and that Fred and George don't destroy anything too expensive at your house._

_ Miss you._

_ -Oliver_

This boy who had given her this beautiful gift that he'd actually made, Michelle realized, was the reason her relationship with George had been kept a secret.

And now she understood why.

But George was there at her bedside the moment he could be when she was in the hospital wing, Michelle reminded herself. Oliver hadn't even known what had happened until Lee told him, if he'd done it yet. George spent as much time with her as possible. Oliver spent as much time on the Quidditch field as possible.

And George didn't seem the type to swoop in and take something that belonged to someone else. So she didn't belong to Oliver and she shouldn't feel so strangely guilty.

But she did.

The next present she picked up had a note, which was good, because she would have had no idea otherwise that it came from Fred and George's parents.

_Michelle,_

_ We were so worried when we heard about your accident! We certainly hope you're all right and that your memory returns to you soon. _

_ Here's a little something for Christmas, dear. Don't let the boys eat all the sweets. Let us know if they're not behaving themselves._

_ -Molly and Arthur_

She smiled at the sweats, as well as the home-knit sweater tucked in between fudge tins and packages of home-made mince-meat pies. Michelle would have to remember to send them a thank-you note.

There was a box from George that she opened hastily, finding a beautiful, sparkling necklace with a snowflake-like star dangling from a beautiful silver chain. Her breath caught when she recognized that some of the sparkle wasn't natural - he had charmed it to sparkle brighter when she touched it. It would be brightest when touching her skin. Michelle smiled slightly, turning the necklace over in her hand.

Lastly, Michelle opened a parcel from her parents, which had a note expressing their feelings about her memory loss, accompanied with a picture album of her growing up.

It was more than a little surreal, flipping through the album. The girl was very recognizable as her, but in photo after moving photo preserving someone else's memories, a life that Michelle had never experienced but had dared to dream about before she was so beaten down by life that she decided it wasn't worth wasting wishes.

She wiped her eyes and went downstairs.

Michelle learned very quickly from George, who led her out to the kitchen, that her family had an annual tradition of Christmas brunch, with eggs, bacon, ham, cakes, puddings, mince meat pies, and pumpkin juice.

"There's cranberry for you, too, dear," Mrs. Simpson said lovingly. "I know you're not a big fan of pumpkin juice."

With a numb sort of nod Michelle sat down between Fred and George at the circular table in the middle of the kitchen, numbly putting a bit of everything that was passed to her onto the plate in front of her and thanking George for putting some cranberry juice in her goblet.

"How does everyone feel about their gifts this morning?" Mr. Simpson asked brightly, which gave Michelle the impression that he'd been awake for several hours, judging from how absolutely dead on his feet he usually was when waking up, before he'd had a few hours awake with plenty of tea.

Michelle blushed.

"Excellent, Mr. Simpson," George and Fred said in unison.

"Erm, great," Michelle said sheepishly, hitting her heels against the legs of her chair. "Um, mother, could I go with the twins sometime this week to do my Christmas shopping? I... I don't think I got anyone anything and I don't know what..."

"Of course," her mother said quickly, obviously understanding what was bothering Michelle.

She didn't know what even her best friends would want for Christmas.

It was more than a little bit distressing. Michelle still knew what she liked, which didn't appear to be very different from what her other self liked, but knowing what friends she'd actually never known before would want for the holidays was another thing entirely.

"Make a list, sunshine," George assured her, passing her some more eggs. "We'll get something for everybody."

Michelle nodded, smiling a little in spite of herself.

Once that was sorted out, Michelle was able to enjoy the remainder of brunch, and found herself eating more than she was used to by far. Perhaps this other body was more used to eating that Michelle had been in her former life, and if her parents could afford to put out as much food as they had been since she'd visited on a regular basis, it was really no wonder. She could never have dared dream of such affluence, although she knew they were far from rich. It was middle class, but to Michelle it felt like feasting every day in a castle.

Which, she realized, was exactly what she did at Hogwarts every day. Maybe this new life was sort of like being a princess after all.

When they were all too stuffed to eat another bite they announced that brunch was complete and they decided to sip warm butterbeer by the fireplace, telling stories.

Michelle got the feeling that story time was to try to jog her memory, but she didn't mind. They seemed to have so much joy in telling their favorite stories that she merely curled up at George's feet with her butterbeer and listened.

"When Michelle was six," Mr. Simpson said with a grin, "she got her first toy broom after begging us for three years straight. We had just started getting breakables out again and putting them out of her reach, but we had to pack them all up again because we don't live in a wizarding neighborhood. Having a little girl riding a broom around the yard might alert our neighbors that there was something not-Muggle about us."

"She loved that thing," Mrs. Simpson laughed. "You insisted that she was going to be a star Quidditch player."

"Well, then we started letting Oliver Wood teach her Quidditch and she absolutely refused to follow his direction," Mr. Simpson said with a wince. "She's a killer spectator, but she doesn't like being coached very much. Never has."

That sounded a lot like Michelle, she thought. She'd not been a fan of authority and certainly didn't like having anyone tell her what to do.

"I remember when Oliver made her try out for the team," Fred sniggered. "She flat-out told Charlie that if he wanted to see how she could fly she wanted to see how he flew first. I've never seen him so furious."

"Yeah, and then you should have heard the Howler Mum sent him for giving her a hard time when he knew she didn't want to try out," George laughed. "Oh, Oliver and Michelle weren't speaking for weeks."

"I remember," Mrs. Simpson said with a sad smile. "She kept writing home for advice and I didn't know what to say. They'd never had a fight before."

George stiffened and without thinking about it Michelle put her had on his leg, caressing him through the pant leg gently, which just made him stiffen more, looking up at her parents to see if they'd noticed.

To her surprise and relief, Michelle saw that her father was looking rather pointedly at a loose string on his sleeve and her mother was sipping her butterbeer with what Michelle would have supposed was a tight smirk.

George relaxed a bit, putting his hand on her hair, stroking it once gently. Michelle cuddled a bit more into his legs as she realized that her parents were choosing not to have any comment about their obviously close behavior. Her parents didn't care that she was dating George.

No, that wasn't quite right.

They did care, but the seemed pleased about it. Maybe the really liked George.

Her foster parents had never cared what boys she ran around with or who took interest in her. This wasn't not caring, she realized. Her parents cared so much that they had an opinion of her behavior with George, and it seemed to be something bordering... approval?

They finished their butterbeer over a few more stories of Michelle's childhood and then her mother asked for help clearing up the kitchen while the boys listened to Quidditch, was apparently a tradition for them on Christmas. Michelle agreed.

As soon as they were in the kitchen, Mrs. Simpson waved her wand at the door and turned to her daughter, who was carrying three empty butterbeer bottles. Michelle blinked, confused.

"How long?" she asked excitedly.

"Um, how long, what?" Michelle asked, still not following what her mother was asking.

"How long have you and George been together?" Mrs. Simpson said patiently, beginning to clear food from the table and put dirty dishes in the sink. "It's been obvious for a while that he's been crazy about you, but you were always too caught up in Oliver to see it..."

Michelle blushed slightly, wondering if she and her mother typically talked about such things, or if she was taking the opportunity of Michelle's memory loss to try to start. Her mother did seem a perceptive person, though, and Michelle needed someone to talk to in her confusion who didn't have too much at stake in Michelle's choices.

"I don't really know," Michelle said with a shrug. "Not very long. Anyway, he's been really sweet about the whole thing. I... why did I like Oliver so much? I mean, we haven't really talked since my injury so I really don't know why... I..."

"You know, I've never really understood it," Mrs. Simpson said with a shrug, waving her wand at the tea kettle. "I think it's one of those childhood crushes. You'd known each other forever, and until he started playing Quidditch seriously he didn't really have any friends except for you. He was awkward. And so you had each other and you spent a lot of time together. You actually cried when he went away to Hogwarts without you his first year. But then you made your own friends and I think you still were attached to him because of that basis of your friendship. But George is a better fit."

"Is he?" Michelle asked dryly, sitting down as her mother put a cup of tea in front of her. "I wouldn't know."

"How does he make you feel?" Mrs. Simpson prompted.

Michelle frowned, trying to think about exactly how to describe the twisting in her stomach when he kissed her or the warmth that spread through her when he put his arm around her or... or...

"He makes me feel special," she whispered. "Special and safe and... and... I don't really know how to describe it, but I like it."

Mrs. Simpson smiled, nodded, and said, "Yeah, that sounds exactly perfect. I think part of the thing with Oliver was the fact that your father was convinced that he was going to be rich and famous someday, which he probably will, so he pushed the relationship quite heavily. But anyway, George is a much better match, and he's very intelligent, him and Fred. And charming. I wouldn't count them out on making something of themselves, even if they are Weasleys." Then she smirked slightly. "Besides, if I had married someone with promise, I never would have married your father."

They laughed and talked about Michelle's childhood in a joke-free way until they'd finished their tea and then they went out to socialize some more.

When it was time for bed, Michelle went back to her room, stripping off her clothes and searching the shelves for pajamas.

This time, there was no knock on the door, but George came bursting in, freezing when she turned to stare at him, his eyes grazing her body in a way that she couldn't quite figure out.

"Um," he finally muttered, "were you going to get dressed or...?"

"Oh!" she cried excitedly. "Y-yes, I was just... yes!"

She quickly pulled out a nightgown and pulled it on. He was still looking at her like she wasn't wearing it, and he moved a step closer.

"I didn't actually wish you a happy Christmas," he muttered, his neck as red as his hair. "So I thought I'd do it when I came to say goodnight..."

"Right," she breathed, looking up to realize that he was right there, right in front of her, hovering over her in a way.

He leaned down as he always did and she tilted her head in anticipation as she had begun to do.

When his lips met hers her stomach twisted again and she hardly noticed when his mouth opened slightly, nudging hers open a bit to delve his tongue inside, to run along her tongue, which was surprisingly enjoyable. She could taste his toothpaste as her arms wrapped around his neck and his wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer to him as their mouths continued to explore each other.

Air, she thought. She would need to break away for air soon. She had all but forgotten to breathe...

And when she finally did make herself pull away, they were both panting.

"Wow," she sighed. "I... I think I need to sit down, I'm kind of..."

"Dizzy?" he muttered, and she nodded.

He helped her over to the foot of her bed where he sat, pulling her onto his lap.

"I... I don't know much about relationships," she said softly when she'd caught her breath enough to think properly. "I... I don't really know much about anything it seems..."

He placed a freckled finger over her lips and smiled a little.

"I don't know much either," he admitted. "Bill and Charlie, they had dates and I watched. But that's about all I know. Fred's the ladies' man."

Michelle wasn't sure what that meant, or if she even wanted to find out, but she did like the way his fingers were tracing circles on her leg absently.

"So... what do we do?" she asked. "I mean, we have no idea what we're doing."

George shrugged.

"I know that I love kissing you," he whispered, brushing a bit of her blonde hair behind her ear. "I know that I love holding you in my arms. I feel like that's good enough for me, if that's good enough for you."

Michelle didn't even think about it. She nodded and kissed him again.

**A/N: I just realized that I might have said that they're fifth years. Purists would know that they're in their fourth year right now. So if I've previously made that mistake I apologize and I'll try to not be an idiot from here on out. Cheers!**

** -C**


	6. That Pink Day

George and Fred had been good shopping buddies, and surprisingly insightful on what she should get for everyone, and helpful in sending the gifts off to their respective recipients. Michelle reflected as they loaded up the car to go back to King's Cross that she almost didn't want the holiday to be over.

Life with Fred and George and her parents had required a much shallower learning curve than life at Hogwarts. She wasn't sure she was entirely ready to deal with it yet, but George had spent the night before holding her, occasionally reminding her that she had a wonderful support system at Hogwarts that would help her through.

"All right, love," Mr. Simpson said cheerfully, almost falsely so, covering up the fact that he didn't want Michelle going back to school. "We'll probably see you again at Easter unless you write and say otherwise, and don't forget to do any extra study hours, or even some time with professors or-"

"Honey, she's not even in her O.W.L. year yet," Mrs. Simpson sighed. "Leave the hair-pulling for exam years." She turned around in her seat to smile at the kids. "Now, have fun, write me if you have any problems with anything."

"Yes, Mum," Michelle said, her stomach fluttering with excitement at being able to address people who were her parents. It was still a bit of a blur, everything that was different about this new life, and as she watched the house she lived in disappear behind them as the car drove up the street.

"You okay?" George whispered in her ear, and she nodded, turning back around.

It felt so surreal, leaving that house she wanted to be in for the rest of her life. She had never been so happy, and she felt a great loss, driving away.

She actually had taken to holding George's hand, even when other people were around, and George would sometimes sneak quick kisses when other people were around. So she slid her hand into his, resting her head on his shoulder while they had their drive to King's Cross of the holiday, silent and solemn, completely contrasting with the exuberant drive away from King's Cross.

When they arrived she walked with George to the barrier between platforms nine and ten, which appeared to be a very solid brick wall. Michelle froze, staring at the wall with her stomach twisting in fear.

"H-how do I?"

"Don't be afraid," George said, squeezing her hand with a grin. "We just go straight at the wall, you're not going to get hurt, I promise. Do you trust me?"

Michelle nodded, taking a deep breath.

"C'mon, we'll take it at a bit of a run."

And so she braced herself and on his countdown, they rushed at the wall, and she was surprised to find herself on the platform they had been on leaving for the holidays, the scarlet Hogwarts Express waiting for them.

"Lee says he's got a compartment!" Fred called to them from a little way down the platform. "Come on!"

Michelle clutched George's hand and followed him into the train.

"Are we going to let people see this?" George asked, squeezing her hand gently.

Before she really even thought about it, Michelle dropped his hand so fast that it was like it had burned her skin, and she thought she saw a flicker of disappointment. She felt bad, but he didn't say a word and she didn't have the courage to ask for his hand back, not when she was still unsure about various things.

"Come on," he sighed. "They're waiting for us."

She followed him and Fred down to the compartment with Lee and the boy she recognized as Oliver Wood chattering happily about what she thought was Quidditch. When Michelle entered, Oliver staggered off the conversation, his eyes filled with concern.

"You didn't tell me!" he said. "You... Why wouldn't you tell me that you lost your memory?"

"I... I didn't know who you were," Michelle said, feeling pink pool in her cheeks as she sat down across from Oliver.

Now she understood why she had had such a crush on the boy. He was strong, attractive, and his voice was deep and completely enticing. She had a hard time believing that every girl in the school wasn't chasing after him, but from what others had said he lived for one thing: Quidditch. If there were girls all over the school after him, he probably wouldn't even notice.

This explained why her subconscious was conflicted about the relationship with George, though, even more than her conscious mind's issues with being in a relationship in the first place. She clearly had a thing for Oliver Wood.

George was cute, obviously. And they had chemistry, for sure. And he was fun and playful and sweet.

But Oliver, he was already a man where George was still a boy. Granted, Michelle was still a girl and she shouldn't have been so eager about finding a man, but she'd lived a hard life on the streets. Boys were dangerous, and men were only safe if you found the right one.

Men were protection from boys... if you found the right one.

That was what it was all contingent on, finding the right man.

But this wasn't the streets of the wrong part of London, this was Hogwarts with a bunch of perfectly normal teenagers living normal teenage lives.

And when Michelle reminded herself that she didn't need to find a man anymore, but a boy who could grow up into a man would do, she managed to relax, despite that nagging question in the back of her mind that said that it was entirely possible that George would never grow up to be a man. She was happy with George, and that was what mattered.

So she settled in for the rest of the train ride to Hogwarts, listening to the boys discuss Quidditch excitedly and ignoring them as she stared out the window.

Classes started up again the very next day, and Michelle felt like she was finally getting the hang of the whole magic thing. Alicia and Angelina were good about helping her get caught up on coursework and teaching her spells she had 'forgotten', and all of the teachers were more than understanding. It was a lot of work, but for the first time at school, Michelle not only wanted to do the work, but she felt as though she really could. The desire to leave or skive off classes didn't even enter into her mind. It felt... really good.

That's not to say that she was suddenly amazing at everything she did.

Michelle did struggle a bit with Potions and more than a bit with Charms, and Divination was basically the most impossible thing that had ever happened in her life (and that was including her current situation), but she was the star student in Muggle Studies and Transfiguration was at least understandable, although she had been sincerely concerned about pulling off that class most of all. Professor McGonagall had made it very clear that Michelle wouldn't be hand-held through the term and that she would have to work very hard to catch up.

Somehow, though, Michelle found herself feeling more than capable of dealing with the coursework, and at least capable of the things that she wasn't quite as good at.

"If we can make it to the end of the year I think you'll be fine," Angelina had told her encouragingly. "I mean, if you pass fourth year, you can turn your attentions to O.W.L.s next year without too much trouble. I mean, no more trouble than the rest of us."

Michelle might have laughed if Angelina hadn't been so somber about O.W.L.s.

The exams, it was rumored, were absolutely disgustingly hard.

"You wouldn't believe some of the things our brothers have told us about the O.W.L.s," Fred told her excitedly. "Of course, half of Charlie's was probably exaggeration and most of Bill's was probably meant to scare Percy, but we can take Percy at his word, at the very least, and even his retellings were pretty intense."

George told Fred to shut up when Michelle turned pretty green, and Fred did so obligingly.

"I'm sure it will be fine," Alicia said nervously. "I mean, it can't be as bad as everything I've heard. My mum said it wouldn't be as bad as I expect, whatever that means."

Of course, everything she, and everyone else, had heard was really quite terrifying, so Michelle had to admit that such an endorsement from Alicia's mother really meant next to nothing. There was a lot of way up to go.

"Do you think we're going to be pulling our hair out when we take the O.W.L.s?" Michelle asked George as they sat by the fire late one night after everyone else had gone to sleep, his arm around her shoulders and his hand playing with her hair.

"Nah," he said with a laugh. "Fred and I plan to ensure that at least some of us are laughing."

It was over a month later when George was waiting for her in the common room when she came down in the morning, and he was grinning at her.

Michelle wracked her brain, trying to understand why he looked so utterly pleased with himself.

And then it struck her.

Valentine's Day.

It was that pink-and-purple-and-red holiday she had never really understood the point of, and she had done absolutely nothing for her under-the-table boyfriend that only three people outside the relationship proper actually knew about.

"Ah, hey," she said slowly. "Good morning."

"Morning," he said brightly, like he was eagerly awaiting the chance to do something fantastic.

"I... um... sort of forgot... well, I mean I didn't really think about..."

He grinned all the wider.

"I thought so," he said happily. "It's okay, that's sort of what I wanted. I wanted the surprise."

He didn't mind that she hadn't gotten him anything in return? Michelle's theory that Valentine's Day was a day for the female of the species to be unduly pampered was absolutely true. Before she had a moment to mentally expound on that theory, however, George pulled a small parcel out of his pocket.

Michelle got the impression that it was for her, so she opened the parcel carefully, pulling back the paper to reveal a small box, which she opened to find a note and hand-carved bracelet that made her think of Oliver's Christmas gift and her throat caught with confusion.

"I... I..."

"Is it okay?" he said, frowning slightly. "I wasn't sure if you'd... I mean, you were always wearing carved stuff like this and I wanted to... I mean, if you hate it, it's fine. I just thought-"

She didn't hate it, and to tell him so she pressed her lips against his right then and there.

There was the sound of something being dropped (probably his book bag), and then he wrapped his arms around her, lifting her slightly off the ground and kissing her back with fervor. Michelle could hear first years giggling and she nearly pulled away, but then George nibbled on her bottom lip and she sank into the kiss again, wrapping her arms around his neck slowly, still holding his gift.

No, it was the squealing that finally caused them to pull apart from each other.

"Merlin, when did this happen?" Alicia squealed excitedly, and Angelina was whispering something excitedly to a smirking George. "Michelle, why didn't you _tell_ me?"

"Um, we were sort of keeping it quiet," Michelle said awkwardly, still holding onto George without even realizing. "Fred knew, but that was it. I... I didn't even know for a bit there."

"Oh," Angelina said softly. "Oh, that's not good."

George just shrugged, kissing Michelle again, obviously done with carrying whether anyone could see, or if anyone knew. There was whistling and cheering and Michelle, caught up in the moment, decided that being secretive was overrated.

Apparently, Hogwarts had been attacked by Valentine's Day that year, and not just in Michelle's personal life.

"Why does the Great Hall look like confetti vomit?" she asked as calmly as possible, sitting down with George across from some of their friends.

"Dunno," Fred said, confused. "It's never been like this before."

Michelle began picking confetti off of the food in her immediate vicinity while Professor Lockhart explained that the disgusting decorations were all his fault, as well as annoying and horrifying his fellow teachers. Snape looked ready to rip the silly man to shreds, and Michelle thought that would have added to the meal.

"Please tell me you're not going to send me something through those ridiculously dressed dwarves," Michelle said, wrinkling her nose as one of them passed.

"Aw, damn," George teased. "There goes the crux of my plans for you today."

They laughed.

"So how long has this been going on?" Alicia hissed from across the table. "I mean, you two."

"Long enough," Michelle said with a shrug. "It doesn't matter."

Alicia looked expectantly for a more specific answer at George, who just grinned and shrugged, putting his hand on Michelle's thigh and running his thumb on her displayed skin.

"I think it's fantastic," Angelina said, excited. She exchanged some meaningful look across Fred at Alicia that didn't seem to pertain directly to George and Michelle at all, and Michelle knew she would have to ask about it later.

"Ugh," Michelle moaned. "He's ruined the water pitcher!"

The confetti had bled color into the water pitcher, making it what Michelle would assume was completely undrinkable. George looked over the brim of the pitcher to see what was the matter, and then he gave her a sympathetic smile.

"Here, I've got this," he said confidently, pulling out his wand.

He held the tip of his wand over her goblet and said, "_Aguamenti!_" A stream of fresh water poured from his wand to her goblet until he judged it full and then he pulled his wand away, lifting it with a flick of the wrist to stop the water.

"Wow," Michelle said, truly awed as she pulled the goblet close to her and looked down at the water. "I wish I could do that."

"You can do that," Fred said, raising his eyebrows. "Haven't they taught you that again?"

"No!" Alicia said indignantly. "We didn't even learn that until this year. Don't confuse her!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't know how far you'd gotten yet," Fred said, annoyed. "Forgive me if I'm not an expert on whatever it is you're teaching her all the time. I don't specialize in 'Michelle's special curriculum'."

Michelle wanted to be angry with him, to throw something at him, but he wasn't exactly being unfair, so she just pouted down at her water, annoyed that she was still so very far behind, obviously in her coursework. Not even the way George's hand patted hers under the table comforting could erase how ashamed she felt of herself.

Going through the pink day was difficult, even though she had a boyfriend. Perhaps especially because she had a boyfriend. Michelle knew there would be romantic expectations, but she didn't know what they were or how she was supposed to behave. She wanted to ask Angelina or Alicia for advice... Anyone really, even Fred. But she was never given a moment alone to ask anyone what she was supposed to do for Valentine's Day and she expected that even Alicia, the kindest of the lot, would have been surprised and a bit pitying if she asked such a question.

Finally, Michelle got a moment alone with George that evening, and she sat down with him in the common room while everyone else was at dinner.

"Have I ever dated?" she asked. "I mean, before you."

George looked at her and smiled sadly.

She hated that look, but she allowed him to do it, perhaps because she was fairly certain he didn't realize he was making it, perhaps because she didn't want to be upset with him. They both seemed equally likely in her mind.

"No, actually," he finally said. "You threatened to enough times, but never actually went through with it."

"Threatened?" she asked, confused and a bit amused. "What does that even mean?"

"You flirted," he sighed. "You toyed with the idea of dating a few guys, several who were besotted with you. Boys... boys have this thing about blondes."

She rolled her eyes. She'd been told that before, but by a friend of Everritt's, but not someone she wanted to even be talking to in the first place, and it had been such a creepy way of saying it, too, not like the way George was saying it.

Threatened.

"You were jealous," she said, understanding.

"Yeah, I guess I was," he said sheepishly. "But you can't really blame me. I mean... you're beautiful."

"Thanks," she said awkwardly, looking away from him for a moment. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her hair just above her ear.

"I mean it, sunshine," he said gently. "You're the most beautiful girl I've ever known."

Now that had to be an exaggeration. She knew she wasn't ugly or anything, maybe a bit better than plain, but Angelina for one was far prettier than Michelle could ever hope to be. Either he was too good of friends with Angelina to see this, or he was being purposefully obtuse for some reason.

"Well, I'm yours now," she said softly, and he relaxed a bit at hearing this, and she could feel him smiling a bit against the side of her head.

Michelle cuddled a bit closer to him, deciding that without the disgusting confetti and the excess of pink and purple and red everywhere, Valentine's Day wasn't such a bad day after all. In fact, she thought she rather liked having someone to share it with, even if she didn't really know him as well as he thought he knew her.


	7. A Day Turned Sour

Angelina, Alicia, and Michelle got together with Lee Jordan of all people for the purpose of a very important special occasion, an event which required their combined efforts to be dealt with properly: The twins' birthday.

"They're turning fifteen," Alicia said with a giggle. "Isn't that strange to think? Anyway, have you got the fireworks, Lee?"

"Of course I've got the fireworks," Lee said indignantly. "Did you remember the water, Angelina?"

"Got it," she said happily.

"All right," Alicia said with a sigh. "I'll take the water and Lee and I will get going. You girls know what to do."

"Yes, we do," Angelina said with a sharp nod, leading Michelle to the Great Hall while Alicia and Lee went off in another direction. "You ready for this?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Michelle said with a forced smile.

In truth, she felt rather sick to her stomach. In her other life, Michelle Simpson would never have agreed to do something like this, although no one would have ever asked her to. Her 'friends' never did exciting or interesting things for each other apart from buying drugs or spotting each other for lunch. And then you had to be careful because it meant they probably stole whatever they were giving you.

"Remember," Angelina said with a smile, "we're absolutely nonchalant."

"I'm not particularly good at nonchalant," Michelle said honestly, following to the Great Hall.

"You'll be fine," Angelina said with a shrug. "We used to try to prank them all the time."

"Try?"

"Well, it's hard to properly prank the pranksters," she admitted. "But we've done better than anyone else, and George was often caught by surprise if you were the one sent to catch his attention and that's what we're doing this time, so I think we've got a decent shot. Plus Lee's on our side this time. That's important."

Michelle had opened her mouth to ask if there was really any way they were going to pull it off when she looked up and realized that they were just outside the Great Hall and the time for discussing was over. They had to be in character, so she put on her smile again, trying to smooth out the fakeness of it and moving forward into the hall confidently.

Fred and George were sitting at the Gryffindor table with their heads put together, talking about something urgently. Michelle wondered what they were discussing as she and Angelina sat on either side of them happily.

"Hello, love," George said absently, pecking her cheek.

"Hey," Fred muttered, looking down at his sandwich mournfully.

As much as Michelle wanted to know what the mournful expression was for, but she was a woman on a mission, and Angelina's pointed look reminded her that.

"George, we need to show you guys something," she said, putting her hand on his leg.

He jumped slightly, looking up at her with curiosity as she ran her fingers across his thigh lightly. She could almost hear his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to concentrate on her words.

"What is it?" Fred asked, reminding both Michelle and George that there were other people there, and triggering Angelina's response.

"You just have to see this for yourselves," Angelina said quickly. "But the second we found it, we thought of you."

"It's not a secret passageway, is it?" Fred said teasingly as Angelina pulled him out of his seat. "Because we've already found all of those."

"Of course not," Michelle sighed. "Why would we show you something you've probably already seen? Now come on!"

She had George's hand in hers and she felt him following close behind her. Michelle couldn't help but think how fun it was that she felt so happy about his closeness, how it seemed to make everything a little bit brighter. She'd never had that experience before. In her previous life all she wanted was to be left alone because closeness meant pain.

They followed the path Angelina and Lee had set up, leading both Fred and George along, George much more eagerly following than his skeptical and unattached twin.

Was Michelle's heart supposed to be racing? Was it the anticipation of what they were about to do or the fact that George was putting his hand on her waist?

"Almost there," Angelina told the impatient and whining Fred sharply, pulling Michelle firmly out of her reverie, reminding her of the mission they were on. "Just keep your trousers on."

"Are you sure that's what you want?" Fred teased suggestively.

Michelle giggled and Angelina just rolled her eyes. Truth be told, Alicia and Michelle had been talking lately of the possibility of setting up Angelina and Fred, the only two people who could really handle each other. But they hadn't really put anything to fruition yet.

"All right, nearly there," Michelle said happily, realizing that having Angelina upset with Fred wouldn't do anything good for the birthday of the twins. And they really were nearly to the window of choice.

They skidded to a halt in the corridor and Angelina warned the twins not to move as she rushed down to make sure that Alicia and Lee were ready to go. Michelle stood with the twins to make sure that they didn't sneak over to the window for a sneak peak.

"Any hints?" Fred asked with a grin.

"None," Michelle said with a smile that seemed to be coming easier the longer she stayed in this reality. "You're going to have to wait and see. Should only be a moment now."

"Not even for a kiss?" George asked, wrapping his arms around her swiftly, causing her to squeak with surprise. She giggled a little.

When had she ever giggled so much? When had Michelle Simpson ever been so silly?

It was a positive change, she decided. It meant she had a happy life, one that allowed for such frivolities as giggling and silliness. She shook her head as George leaned forward to kiss her, the breath leaving her body completely, when Angelina called that she was ready.

Michelle led the boys quickly down the hall to the window where Angelina was waiting, and she gestured out the window with a smile. They were in view of it just in time to see the fireworks that Lee and Alicia were setting off below. Fred grinned as the words 'Happy Birthday!' and 'April Fool's!' were flashing in the sky with loud crackles that absolutely had to be involved in the glory of fireworks. George wrapped his arms around Michelle's waist and kissed her cheek.

"You guys did all this?" he said in her ear, loud enough to be heard over the fireworks.

She nodded, watching Fred and Angelina whooping and hollering about the spectacle back and forth.

It was nice, Michelle decided, having friends. She wondered if she would be able to properly be able to carry on this life forever.

If she had to, of course. She reminded herself quickly that she was living someone else's life, that Professor Dumbledore was working on a way to right things.

But as George pressed his lips gently to Michelle's neck she could feel tears welling up in her eyes.

"What's wrong, love?" George whispered, but she shook her head. She couldn't explain properly without telling him the truth. So she just turned a bit and pressed her cheek to his chest.

"I'm fine," she whispered in a lie. "I'm just really happy right now."

George grinned pressing his lips to her forehead and whispering, "So am I."

They made their way back down to breakfast together, Angelina and Fred chattering about the firework choice and Michelle and George simply holding hands.

"Do I get you to myself later?" he whispered as they sat back down in the Great Hall.

Michelle nodded, smiling, not realizing that she didn't even think about it before agreeing to give some of her time to George. But she didn't know what later was, or when later was, or exactly what was supposed to happen during this 'later'.

But she found that she didn't exactly mind.

The day felt long after that, eating meals tasted like sawdust, Michelle found as she forced down her breakfast. There was giddiness she couldn't explain and she felt her heart racing nonstop. There was no rest and Michelle followed her friends to classes with eagerness that she couldn't imagine.

The usual blur of not really knowing what she was doing was replaced by the exciting blur of wondering what she might be doing later. It had occurred to Michelle a few times that she really had no idea how extensive her relationship with George was, just how much they knew about each other or just how they felt for each other, but she found her heart racing as she anticipated finding out.

And Michelle had never been one for relationships before, but suddenly this seemed to be the only thing that mattered as she sat at dinner, fiddling with her fork instead of actually eating.

After dinner, George took Michelle up to the Gryffindor Tower, giving Fred a wink that she was sure meant they'd worked something out, and leading her up to his dormitory, which was surprisingly empty.

"They boys have all agreed to give us a few hours alone," he whispered, leading her over to his bed, where he sat down, pulling her into the seat beside him. She could feel her hands beginning to sweat as he smiled at her.

What if he expected this to turn into something...?

She could see the alleyway in her mind as his hand moved to her cheek, turning her face slightly so that he was looking in her eyes intently.

Michelle could feel the cold night air on her face again, and she knew it was from the alley, as the windows in the dormitory were closed. Her heart was racing as his lips touched hers, and she actually froze as he kissed her, gently.

It was... it was sparks and sweet, and she did like the kiss, but she couldn't get the feeling of panic out of her chest. She backed away abruptly, eyes wide, panting. George frowned.

"Are you all right, Michelle?" he asked.

"I... I..."

She didn't know what to say. She just kept seeing things that she knew were from another life, and how did you tell a sweet boy that you remember a rape you didn't actually go through in this life you were supposed to have?

"Michelle, I'm going to ask you something very, very important," he said slowly. "Are you having a memory?"

What?

"I don't know," she choked out, not sure what to say.

"In your mind, just now, were you afraid of me? Did you feel like I might hurt you or push you?"

Why was he being so calm about this? Shouldn't he be more freaked out by the fact that his girlfriend was having some sort of panic attack when she was being kissed?

She didn't say a word, but the heat that filled her cheeks must have said everything, because George scooted back on the bed a bit, a bitter smile turning up at one corner of his lips.

"When you were a kid," he said softly, "you were... attacked by an older student. Slytherin. There was just supposed to be a prank, but it went too far and... well, he tried to rape you." George sighed, running his fingers through his hair nervously. "Teachers found you before you were too physically hurt, thankfully, but the psychological damage... You've... you've been through counseling and whatnot, but I guess with the trauma that's the sort of thing that would come back to you, isn't it? Ugh, I feel like such an idiot."

"No," Michelle said quickly. "No, you're not an idiot. And I... I'm sorry this had to ruin things tonight."

"Not ruined," he said with a sad smile. He kissed her forehead gently, pulling away as soon as his lips left her skin so as not to frighten her. "I still have _you_."

Michelle gave him a sheepish smile.

"All the same," she said softly, touching his hand to let him know she wasn't upset with him or scared of him anymore, "I feel like I better talk to Professor Dumbledore. I... I just have a lot I think I need to talk with him about in... in light of..."

"Of course," George said earnestly. "C'mon, Fred and I can walk you to his office. Best if we don't walk alone these days, you know."

Michelle allowed herself to be escorted to the gargoyle outside of Dumbledore's office, her hands shaking slightly as she tried to prepare herself for what she was sure would be a terrible counseling session. There were things she needed to know, things she needed to forget. Memories she needed to trade if there was any way, any way at all.

But she knew there couldn't be, and she stood in front of the gargoyle, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet as the twins tried the name of every candy known to man trying to get it to respond.

"Fizzing Whizbees!"

"Chocolate Frogs!"

"Sugar Mice!"

"Acid Pops!"

The gargoyle began to move and the boys raised their eyebrows at each other.

"Acid Pops?" George said, shocked. "Those disgusting things Charlie loves? You'd think they'd have an age limit on those things."

"This is Dumbledore," Fred said reasonably. "He probably has a better tolerance for horrifying than the average six-hundred year old."

Michelle just rolled her eyes, forcing a smile as she stepped onto the staircase, said goodnight to the boys, and made her way up to the wooden door that led to Professor Dumbledore's office.

She took a deep breath and knocked.

"Enter," said the voice of Dumbledore, and she wondered if he had somehow been expecting her. Michelle shook her head slightly and opened the door, stepping into the incredibly full office and taking a moment to just process all of the _things_ in it. There were portraits absolutely covering the walls, sleeping elderly people. And Michelle couldn't even name the various trinkets and instruments Dumbledore had all around the room. She could guess what some of it was, based on things she'd seen in her books for class, like the lunascope, but that was maybe a handful of things at best.

"Miss Simpson," he said softly. "I take it you needed to talk with someone. Please, have a seat. What is troubling you?"

Michelle sat down at the chair he'd gestured to. She folded her hands in her lap nervously, looking at a trinket on his desk that was only being used as a paperweight.

Or was it a parchment-weight?

"I... I had a flashback from my other life, of being raped..."

"Ah, and you have no one to talk with about this," he said, narrowing his eyes. "Or is there something else?"

Michelle looked at him, tilting her head slightly.

"Well, George thought it was a flashback from an incident I have no memory of, of an attempted rape... Professor, I know magic can do a lot of things. Is there any way, knowing that these memories have some equivalence... to use them to bridge something?"

Professor Dumbledore frowned slightly, looking at her impassively for what felt like a half an hour before standing, moving to a cabinet in the corner, to reveal a collection of vials that were all labeled with tiny slips of parchment tied onto the corks.

"Let me see," he muttered, glancing at the lower shelves like he was looking for something. Then he snapped up one of the vials, closing the cabinet, and returning to his desk.

"What's that?" Michelle asked.

"Any time we have a crime committed on campus," Professor Dumbledore sighed, "it is customary to extract a memory of the event from the victim, for records purposes. Often this is done while the victim is unconscious, to save them from extra trauma. This is your memory of the event in question."

Michelle raised her eyebrows.

"What are you going to do, then?"

"This is something that hasn't been done before, you understand," he said softly. "I really cannot guess if this will work very well, but it is, I think, a good thing to attempt. I will remove, very carefully, any memories you have of sexual assault from your former life and replace this memory from the vial into your mind. A copy, of course. I do need this for our records."

"Of course," Michelle said softly, looking down at her hands again, frowning slightly. "Will... will it hurt?"

"I shouldn't think so," Professor Dumbledore responded gently. "There will be some amount of emotional distress, I should imagine, but I can take care of the immediate effects of that."

Michelle nodded, looking up at him with determination, staring right into his twinkling blue eyes.

"All right then," she said boldly. "I'm ready. Let's get this over with."

With a sympathetic smile, Professor Dumbledore took out his wand, turning it over in his hands for a moment before setting the vial to the side, getting a vial out of a drawer, and saying, "Take this before we begin."

"What is it?" she asked nervously, holding out her hand to take the vial from him.

"A Calming Draught," he told her. "It is like taking a pain potion before doing some sort of intensive and painful procedure. It's a standard unless it will interfere with the procedure in some way. This will cause you great emotional distress, and the potion is a preliminary step to calming that distress."

Michelle nodded, uncorking the vial and downing it in one. The vial was so small that she wondered for a moment if it would be enough, but once the calm sat in and she looked up at Professor Dumbledore sanguinely he smiled sadly at her, raising his wand arm right away.

As if underwater she heard him say, "_Legilimens._"


End file.
